The King of the Urthworms
by Floppy Katana
Summary: Burr Deepdigger (OC) is sent on a mission to the barn, but chances take him from his path and into the secret kingdom of Guisante, King of the Urthworms. Set roughly before "The Legend of Luke." One chapter.


**Author's Note: Please enjoy! I don't own Redwall, please don't sue me.**

Burr Deepdigger shuffled down the drafty stairway, relieved when he reached the roaring fires in Cavern Hole. Dibbuns ran around him, playing with a wicker ball and grabbing each other's tails. Burr waded through the playful dibbuns and seated himself at a table with Dinny Foremole. Burr opened his knapsack, taking out some of the famous Redwall candied chestnuts. Foremole turned his head and extended his heavy digging claw, begging. Reluctantly, Burr dropped some of the candies into Foremole's outstretched claw.  
"Nex' time ye ought to get yurr own chesnuts," Burr said.  
After Foremole cleared his mouth, he leaned closer to Burr. "Oi have a job for ye. D'you know of Brushtail, the heir of the nobal Gingivere famly?"  
"Oi fink so, Foremole. Dinn'e visit us a cupple seasons ago?

"Tha's im. Well, he's gotta order fer a celler under the barn 'e calls home. I want you to go over yonder inna Mossflower Wood an dig 'im a celler. I would send a gurt army o moles, but we need evry mole we 'ave preparing fer snowmelt. An' we're wanting to stay on Brushtail's good side, oi fink."  
Burr nodded feverishly. Cats were dangerous creatures indeed. An image of a felines' jagged sharp teeth swayed into his vision and he visibly shivered. Foremole Dinny clapped his thick digging claws to Burr's back and said, "Don't ye worry, Burr. Brushtail's a nice cat. By the way, ye should get 'ome supplies fer the journey."  
"Arright, moi friend." Burr responded.  
"Good luck, Burr." Foremole said.

Burr stood up from the table and made his way over to the door to the kitchen. He scurried in, greeting all the wonderful cooks that tended the ovens. Burr could smell the angelic scent of deeper'n'ever pie emanating from the largest oven.  
Columbine tended to this oven, but whirled around when Burr walked in.  
"Burr!" She yelled. "What can I do for you?"  
"Oi would loik sum rations ter bring with me for two days." Burr responded.  
"Rations! I will not serve anyone rations!" She responded, mock-offended. "But you can have... plums, arrowroot, candied chestnuts, and damsons, not to mention a 'gurt' slice of fresh pie."  
Burr's mouth watered as he watched the middle-aged mouse bustle around the kitchen and prepare the snacks. She wrapped the berries in a cloth, then cut a steaming slice out of the deeper'n'ever'n'turnip'n'tater'n'beetroot pie. Burr's eyes rolled lazily, breathing in the intensified scent. Columbine wrapped the pie in a large leaf-cloth and packed the food into his knapsack.  
"I hope you enjoy your rations," Columbine stated.  
"Oi fink oi will, thanks."  
Burr set out from the snow-covered abbey later that evening, wrapped in two heavy travelling coats. He tunneled through the inch-high snow in the meadow with much difficulty. Finally, he made it to the forest, where it was much easier to walk because the trees caught most of the snow. Burr walked for hours, heading northeast to the barn.

Burr did not realize the twig until he tripped over it and fell face-first into a bush by the side of the snow-covered trail. He recovered, dizzy for a second, to find himself inside a canopy of budding branches, his back against the trunk. It was actually quite relaxing in there, hidden from the world. An ice-laden creek trickled nearby, and the cautious sun dappled the snowy ground in increasingly intricate patterns. Burr nestled himself comfortably betwixt the roots for a Redwall-famous mid-day nap.  
Burr didn't know how it happened, but he assumed afterward that he had rolled over in his sleep into a hole in the roots.

He woke up with the comfortable feeling of wind on his face. He was conscious of darkness outside, and of dampness around him. There must be a storm going on, he thought. Thank goodness for the thick leaf cover on this bush!  
Wait!  
With a surge of adrenaline, Burr opened his eyes in panic. He was in an underground cavern, hurtling down to the bottom, if there even was one.  
"Aaaaaaaaiiiiiiiiiiiiii!" He screamed.  
He moved in a frenzy, trying to catch onto the side of the vertical tunnel with his long digging claws. But they were too far even for his long mole claws to reach!  
He became aware of the bottom, it was some obscure mole sense that let him know.  
At this point he lost all hope and covered his head in his claws. He hit the ground. Hard.  
THUMP!  
It was the mossflowers that saved his life.  
The budding moss cushioned his landing, and Burr simply laid there awhile, recovering. He was not uninjured, though, and had chipped his left claws and had the wind knocked out of him.  
Somewhere, a trickle of water dribbled and he let it fall into his mouth eagerly. Meanwhile he opened his knapsack and popped some candied chestnuts into his mouth. To his dismay, the deeper'n'ever pie had fallen out.  
"Aaaaaahhhhh." Burr sighed contentedly. After a rest, Burr stretched and stood up. The place he was in still had that underground and damp feeling. He was dimly aware of a shape in front if him.

Burr had seen earthworms before, but none were as mighty and impressive as the Worm before him. The massive Worm was almost as big as an adder! It's body lay in coils on the cavern floor. Suddenly an end rose up into the air, snakelike and sinuous. "Tunnel moi urth, that Wurm is huge!"  
The worm was almost unbearably loud even though it had no visible mouth, or face( for that matter)  
It spoke first in a strange Wormish tongue. Then, it groaned, awakening the unused speech muscles. "What mole comes this deep into the Underworld?"  
"Moi name is Burr Deepdigger of Redwall. Oi cum bearin' the gift of frenship, from the creechers of Redwall Abbey."  
"Redwall Abbey... I know the place. The red sandstone blocks were dug above here- in a place you call..." There was a pause as the worm thought for a word. "Quarry? Yes, but where are my manners? My name is Guisante, King of the Earthworms. Come, let me show you my kingdom."  
Guisante unwound himself from his mossy nest and slithered along the tunnel, beckoning with his tail to Burr.  
The kingdom consisted of a spacious great hall, many little sleeping chambers, and various sprawling sized tunnels. Some were too small for Burr to fit in. The underground kingdom must have been at some point impressive, but now it was in a sad state of disrepair. A grand crack ran across the great hall, and from it drips of water fell ominously.  
"Why don't yore Wurms fix that crack, Lord Guisante?"  
"My kingdom is very old. it has existed since the evil days of Kotir and the wildcat Tsarmia. The worms- they are too ignorant. They do not believe that their ancestral kingdom is dying. Once the snows melt, my kingdom will flood. It was prophesied that this day would come.  
My kingdom is dying, Burr."  
"Not if oi have a say in anyfing!"  
"Save my kingdom and we shall be forever in your debt!" Guisante responded, hopefully.

Moles, probably because of their slurring dialect, are not regarded as the smartest of beasts. However, after Guisante heard what Burr had to say, he had completely rejected the thought. The mole was very knowledgeable. But more than his new discovery, the Worm King had hope.

Guisante summoned the worms for a mass meeting in the great hall by banging his tail on the floor. Oh, I miss the deeper'n'ever pie at Redwall ,Thought burr. Worms crawled into the great hall. When they were all still and quiet, Guisante spoke again in Wormish. This tongue consisted of gurgling and harsh clicking. After Guisante finished his speech, the worms clicked in unison.  
"What arr they sayin', Guisante?"  
"They're thanking you, Burr."  
"Tell 'em not to thank oi until thurr home in the Redwall cellar spaces."  
At this, the earthworms wriggled and made for the south-west bound tunnel.  
"Let's go!"  
Burr was in the lead, shoveling big hulks of dirt out of the way to make it easier for the worms to move behind him. After a decent while, Burr ate the last of the candied chestnuts and took a short rest. The worms had gone ahead, needing little rest. Burr was left behind so he had to scurry after them.  
Traveling underground was a lot slower than traversing the shady forest above, so the normally day-long journey was extended by a day. Burr still found himself longing for Redwall. He wished he could be sitting at the great table, sitting at the great table and enjoying a great slab of deeper'n'ever pie in the company of a handful of Dibbuns and his friend, Gonff.

Foremole and the Abbot had grown worried about Burr. They stood together on the battlements, quietly looking over the snow-covered meadow and the abbey grounds. A couple Dibbuns frolicked in the orchard, and the Badgermum doted after them, trying to keep their mittens on. After several minutes of waiting, the Abbot turned to go back inside.

"Foremole," the Abbott asked in a shaky voice. "I am going inside- this cold is not good for me."

Foremole nodded, staring out at the snowy valley. He turned to follow the elderly Abbott.

As soon as they entered the abbey, the first thing the duo heard was Columbine yelling.

"Abbot! Something's in the cellars!"

She ran up the staircase to the great hall, where she grabbed the pair by the scruffs of their necks and dragged them down the stairs to Cavern Hole. They were dragged down the stairs to the cellars by Columbine's iron grip. Before them the soil churned and crumbled, and out popped Burr's head. Guisante emerged behind him, and the soil came to a stop.

Burr started as he took in the Abbot, who was massaging his knees and looking incredulous.

"Oh. Abbot…" Burr started to say. "Well…"

Brushtail's brush-like tail swayed back and forth as he strode through Mossflower Wood. His yellow eyes strayed back and forth across the path, his padded feet leaving light marks on the melting snow. He turned his head to the sky, enjoying the freedom of his morning walk. He breathed in, then stiffened.  
Something was wrong.  
He breathed deeply, then focused on a strange scent. His yellow eyes zeroed in on one spot, to the side of the trail. Brushtail stalked, feet making no sound, to the spot. He gingerly removed the cover with a claw, then gawked at the sight. It was a perfect gift, right when he needed it.

A flawless slice of deeper'n'ever'n'turnip'n'tater'n'beetroot pie lay before him, untouched and delicious.

The cat looked both ways before starting to gobble it up. No reason for it to go to waste, he thought. Then he strutted cheerfully back to the barn. He wondered for a minute when the mole crew from Redwall would come, but cast the thought off as unimportant.

Never in Brushtail's life did he think about the pie's origins.

 **Author's Note: If you liked it, please comment. If no, review anyway and let me know what I can work on to make you like it. Thanks for reading!**


End file.
